


Rum and Coke

by hydratedbarnes



Category: Marvel
Genre: Adopted Reader, Age Difference, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Size Kink, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Sex, underaged drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:33:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27501595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydratedbarnes/pseuds/hydratedbarnes
Summary: Where he’s nobody but a lonely man in a bar and she’s nothing but a girl with tear stained cheeks, with tongues tainted of rum and whiskey, what could go wrong? That’s for him to find out at her father’s barbecue tomorrow.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Steve Grant Rogers/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 120





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've planned this to end on a cliffhanger. I don't know how you guys feel about that. Please let me know if you would like a second part.

He’s got himself in a predicament. A large one whiles hes at it. After years of no contact with this man— his best friend —hes suddenly flown out to the backs of a small little island off the east of Nova Scotia, Canada.

He chuckled to himself at the thought. His best pal, old fashioned Steve Rogers, living in small city of the east of Canada. Can’t blame for the sake of that, he’s got this happy family he’s bound to meet tomorrow: that god awful celebration for his new marriage.

Ironic really, for someone like Steve to marry not once but twice. Perhaps the first wasn’t it. Though, Bucky was sure Margaret was the one for him.

He couldn’t be anymore less excited about being here. Which gave him the rightful idea to spend the first of his night sat by the bar with a glass of rum in his hand.

The bartender, pretty little blonde gave him the change for his drink, a little tip with a piece of paper in the mix of it got him smirking back as a treat. Though, he knew he wouldn’t call her. Life was just not that simple as before.

Not when he would be jumping from bed to bed every night. Now, he’s pushing forty while grey hairs made a mockery of him. Back aching with every stretch of his body.

Yet somehow, he’s still managed to work through the pain and sores of working out. Call it a gift, he’s thankful.

And he’s more than that when he’s greeted with a stranger sat next to him, he’s head down while loud sniffles fell her face as tears. He raised a brow to himself, gave himself a sigh and pushed his glass towards her.

She paused for a moment, pushed her hair back behind pierced ears. A silver hoop here and there. A diamond on another. He caught her eye when she found him from the corner of her view. Hesitant, rightfully so, as he had forgotten this wasn’t New York.

Though, seeming to be desperate, she took it. Down the burning liquid with one taste and licked her bitten lips in response.

He smiled.

She caught it.

Then she turns.

She finds him staring, a dazed look in those pretty blue eyes of his. Soon, she’s the one looking at him with a gaze. He takes back the glass, a loud rumble of the sound takes her back.

Crimson red coated nails tap against the wood. Once. Twice. Thrice. She stops. Her hair falls in front once again and she jumps from her seat, ready to turn and leave.

But unlike him, well, unlike current him, he pulls her back. Desperate like her, like the twenty year old him, he tugs. And there, she’s looking at him from the height difference between them. Eyes heavy, glossy even with left over tears, he stares.

She knows. It’s stupid. Yet, she says yes anyways.

Just like that, he’s caught her in his web. A dance of their tongues, hot and heavy while they taste of each other.

Suddenly, he’s that twenty year old jackass again. Sleeping with a girl he barely knew. In all honesty, that was the least of his concern as the girl beneath shivered when his lips kissed along the skin of her neck.

She whimpered. Mewled under the cold touch of his tattooed fingers. Nipples cold and hard while he played with them.

She’s fucked. Angry. Sad. All sorts of emotions, too many at once for her to care. Which may be one of the many reasons that got her here. If so, then so be it.

Better than going home to that excuse of a father. He most likely doesn’t even give a shit she’s gone, too busy fucking her new mother in their house.

She kisses him harder. Attempts to bury the pain in this man’s mouth. He kisses back.

Drags his tongue along where the button of her jeans sits heavy and unopened. That’ll change. In seconds, he’s already between her legs, thighs around his head like it were made for him.

She sings his name within that first lick. Loud and clear, almost as if to taunt her father that this is what his babygirl had been doing while he was doing this to his own wife.

“Thats it, baby.” He tells her, grabs her hand while guiding her through her own orgasm. And when she breaks, she comes with a loud cry buried into this man’s pillow. Words of praises falling heavily on his lip, even more so after she came.

It’s his turn now, she thinks. This will be a good distraction. It’ll give her something to be occupied. It’s what she tells herself when straddles him, bare inside of her as her hips grind against him.

He feels good. Genuinely and perhaps this may be one of the best distraction she’s ever had. Especially more so when he’s hit thag spot that has her head thrown back; bare chest out and nipples pebbled.

He liked that. Takes one into his mouth and teases the poor little thing till she’s crying his name. Small faint whispers of _James_ in the room, then little curses when he presses her against his bed and fucks like he’s never done.

Her clit swollen and proud when he rubs his thumb against it. Has her bucking like a bitch in heat. So smooth and so resilient, he chuckles at the thought of what more she can do.

He fingers her mouth. She accepts it glady when her tongue swirls around tatted fingers. One strip against the cross on his thumb, another of the stars on his middle finger. Fuck, she’s beautiful.

And when she cums, god. He swears she’s more beautiful than the stars here. Her pretty little cries, mewls while dainty fingers fists the sheets. Just like that, she breaks.

All for him.

All because of him.

And he can’t help smile when he kisses her again. The taste of her sits heavy, mixed with the faint treat of the rum and coke he had at the bar.

* * *

The night is heavy, still, even more so when she’s woken up and peels herself away from the sleeping man.

Her body aches with every move, a small groan escape her bitten lips when she stands. Dressed in only his shirt, she searches for the pack of Velvet Rose cigarettes she has in her bag.

She’s thankful for the slightest bit his hotel room has a balcony. That way, when she blows the cancerous thing, he won’t smell it with distaste.

For once, it’s quiet. No yelling, no arguing. Just her thoughts and the moon.

“ ** _Fuck_**.” However, she finds tears pricking her eyes. A sad little thing she is, truly. A daughter with daddy issues, finding men to fuck instead of confronting the man she’s needed her whole life.

And just as she thought was alone, the door slides open and hes there. Just as pretty and tempting from the bar.

He leans against the frame. His muscles are too good for his own self. “Can I get a hit?”

She hands him the cigar between red painted fingers. “Have at it.” He takes it with a thank you under his throat.

And as he takes a low blow of the cigarette, puffing out a large amount of smoke into the air, she gave him a weak smile. God, the sleep is still in her.

But the way he looked at her under the light. It’s like she’s forgotten everything every time she stares.

Which is why the moment that small flicker of light goes out, long forgotten on the ground, she’s pressed up against the glass door.

Panting. Moaning. Whimpering under his as he takes back to their bed of euphoria. She’s fucked, both figuratively and literally as she’s cumming around him once again.

Blame it on her. Blame it on the drinks. A little bit of both never hurt anyone.

* * *

She’s set to leave first thing in the morning. His shirt hangs low off her aching body, her body yelling with bites all over. She laughs at the idea of her father’s eyes bulging when they see them.

She has to leave. Soon, if not. But he’s up with her. His lips leaving wet trails of kisses where her shoulder meets the collarbone. “Stay.”

It’s tempting. She really wants to. But today is an important day, if not for her but for her father and new mother... _**Step-mother**_. No one could compare to Margaret.

“I want to. I really do.”

“Then stay.”

She turns to him, eyes lazy and filled with the euphoria from last night. _**Fuck**_ , she really does. No. She has to leave. Now for that matter knowing that one last kiss will set her bound to his arms.

She kisses him once. Only that before she’s pulling away from his touch. He groans loudly, falling back on the bed as she smiles. “Keep the shirt. You look good with it on.”

She takes his offer. Moments later, she’s dressed and so is he. She’s the first to leave. Thinks of him while on the ride back home. Like that little girl with a school girl crush, she smiles.

* * *

He’s out of his mind, truly. Sleeping with a girl he barely knows, telling her to keep his shirt. A fool is what he is. Like that twenty year old in college, an idiot.

Hes pushed those thoughts away when he’s with his best friend. The blond headed punk greeting him with a hug and pat while his new bitch of a wife waltzes in with a grin fill with too much mischief.

And the woman says her name, it enters one ear and exit the other. Not familiar with anyone else, with the exception of Sam and Sharon, he makes company with himself.

The party is a boring one, in all honesty. It’s too mundane. Too normal for his liking. There are white picket fences. Perfectly cut grass and a family dog.

He grimaces. It’s too weird.

But it’s perfect for a man like Steve Rogers. A man who’s had two wives. A man with a daughter. A man with a family.

While perhaps it’s not the exact like he wants, it’s the happiness that does it for him. Jealous. Perhaps. Envy. Then again, what was he to except from America’s Golden Boy?

The blond breaks his him out his deprecating thoughts. Squeezing his shoulder, he calls his name as he drags him into their home. Ever so pristine and so predictable.

“I’m shocked you haven’t met yet. But, Buck, this is my daughter...” Then he sees her, standing meekly beside her father’s figure with those doe eyes that stared at him last night.

She gives him a smile, a genuine one that reaches her eyes. And while her hands are out, reaching for him, he takes it. A remembrance of their night.

Cold nights under sheets. Writing body while he holds her under. She moans his name, loud and clear when he makes her finish. His name heavy on her rum stain lips. He smiles.

“Y/n.”

“James. Bucky.” He takes her hand, a squeeze and her eyes light up. “Whatever you’d like to call me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stains are harder to remove than you think, which is why Bucky ended up here... having dinner with his best friend and his eighteen year old daughter.

He’s got eyes stuck on her. Small fragile little thing, standing meekly beside her father while he spoke down to her.

He’s eavesdropping, he knows it. He also he doesn’t care. It’s too late anyways. That girl hes slept with is there, standing with a crease in her brows.

God, he knew he hated Canada. No, actually, he doesn’t but he’s there. Nearly fourty years gone into the drain by some woman... women.

Call him a bitch, whatever, Steve’s a slut. He knows it. Sam knows it. Sharon knows. Especially when they’re there beside him with a shared look.

“She’s...”

A laugh fills the air. Sam’s. Then Sharon’s. Bucky’s throat closes, then his reminded of the night before. Spoken words and moans between her and him.

“Different?”

“Wild?”

He knows it’s about the skimpy brunette few feet away from the blond and his daughter. She’s working around, bending over, reaching shelves too high for her. Small little thing like her step-daughter.

He breathed, sharply when her doe eyes found his own. Her father pointing a finger at her. His brows creased in frustration. Bucky turns, looks for his friends... acquaintances and finds them gone.

**_Fuck_**.

He should’ve known better than to return the invite for a person dinner with the blond and his little family. His little doll house.

He’s overthinking it. Already imagining Sharon and Sam with him as to ease the fear of his friendship with Steve.

**_God, this is awkward._ **

Even more so when he’s sat alone at their table waiting for his host. His best friend. His new wife. And his daughter...

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” His baby blues looked up to find matching pairs. He grinned, genuinely. “Family issues.”

Steve shared a laugh as if to relate. But Bucky raises a brow, unamused and irritated, truly. “Yeah.” Then he’s finding her eyes at her, the look of the activities that had happened prior prominent in those wide eyes.

His large hands over her neck, squeezing while she moan his name pathetically. He knew what she was to him, what she is to his best friend. Still, here they were.

Balls deep in his car, dress bunched up around her waist. He can smell himself on her, a little bit of vanilla and cinnamon.

This time, her lips replicate the red on her nails. Mouth all over skin, red stained. “Baby...” The pet name is simple as that but she’s grinning in glee.

Then she’s kissing her, fragile kitten licks to his lip and parts his mouth open. A good distraction, that’s what it is.

The same one she found at that bar. Tear stain cheeks and tongue tasted of rum. His favourite, it must be as she tastes it again. **_Fucker_**.

“How have you been?” Steven’s voice enters his mind, his head snapped to him with a curious glare. “It’s been a while. Got a kid and everything now.”

Almost as if unsure, Steve looks at him with affirmation. He smiles, fakes it. “Yeah. Brooklyn boy is all grown.” He eyes her, right beside her father while her fingers tap against the table.

Then they’re sharing a laugh. His wife smiling in content at the two. “Care to share the beans, Y/n?” God, her voice is high. Makes him grimace at the sound and Steve takes notice.

And when she passes the bowl, mutters _you’re welcome_ , he spots the hickey on her neck he gave her hours before. Hidden behind hair.

Steve, clueless to his best friend’s wandering eyes, attempts to converse conversation between daughter and wife.

And when that fails, miserably, he’s turning to him in an effort. Babbles about Canada, Cape Brenton. Maple syrup. About Adeline, his wife. His new one. Not Margaret, no other woman could compare to Margaret. Even Bucky liked Margaret. Everyone likes Margaret.

Even her. Her averted eyes, attempting to avoid his bevause she knows... Him as well, that one last look, one last glare, they will end up where they did the night before sun his hotel.

“Y/n, why don’t you tell Bucky here about the scholarship they offered you in New York.”

Now... well, now that’s got his attention. A smile and nothing but pride on his face while words of praise about his daughter falls from his mouth.

“I prefer not. They didn’t even accept me yet. You need to stop telling people that, dad.” It comes harsher than she intends and it offends the man as there’s a crease in his brows.

“What? I can’t be proud of my daughter for being the smarty pants she is?” A falliable laugh comes from him, makes Bucky’s eyes revert back to her with nothing but concern.

“Because you’re already giving people expectations of me from your point of view. I’m sorry we can’t be a perfectionist like you and fuck up once in a while.”

Steve’s fork clatters loudly against his plate. Loud and obnoxious, the sound scares his wife with a squeal. “Careful with your language, lady.”

“Steve... I think—”

Another glare. “I oughta wash that mouth with soap.”

Then one from her. “Then do it. You’ve always been a pussy. Sticking promises when you can’t even keep them. That’s why mom left and stuck me with you.”

The sound of skin enters the room. Loud and shocking. Then there’s a quiet sound in the room that causes nothing but unease to Adeline. She coughs, fakes it as she can’t bare to bask in the silence.

Bucky’s eyes are wide with surprise when he stares back at her. Head down with a hand to her cheek. Then chairs scrap against the floor and she’s gone.

A cough. From him.

“I apologize. She can be a little much.”

He says it with such... ease. Comfort. It sends chills down Bucky’s back at the thought of this horrible father sitting in Steve’s skin.

He swallows his fear. Deep and hard with a gulp before he asks: “Where’s your bathroom?” Then he’s gone just as her.

His steps are careful, minuscule at best when he pads his way down their hallway. Messes up and finds himself outside their patio. The smell of strawberries fill the air and suddenly, he’s found her outside.

A stick between her lips while she stands meekly against the wall. Red rimmed eyes looking up to the sky for comfort, stars shinning brighter than they do in Manhattan.

“What do you want?” Theres exhaustion present in her tone, perhaps even anger. Though, he knows it’s not directed towards him.

And he realizes she’s vaping. A common habit between teenagers these days while he prefers the old thing. A cigar or a joint. Either works.

But that’s not what he focuses on. It’s the wetness of her cheeks. A side of hers perhaps still tender from the hit. “You’re a liar, you know.”

The words himself makes her laugh, even scoffs while she stands still in her spot. She shakes her head, pulls the stick away from her lips and smiles. “I take it that this is about last night.”

“...And the night before.”

Then finally she turns. Catches his pretty blue eyes and swallows the gum she’s been gnawing on for hours. “I’m no liar, **_James_**. You’re just terrible at asking questions.”

“And how was I suppose to know that I slept with my best friend’s daughter, huh?” He raises a brow at her, challenging her response. Instead, it makes her grin.

However, she shrugs then eyes something behind him. Her hand outreached as the sound of a click emerges softly. She’s closed the patio door.

He stares down, finds the height difference rather quite appealing and smiles. “Well, I suppose now you know.” She tells him, runs a finger down the middle of his sweater.

She eyes him, finds herself quite lost in the way his eyes sparkle under the moon flight gaze. “My father cannot know about this.”

But his fingers find her chin, draws them to where he stands and leans. Just like that, they’re brought back to that time in the bar; his lips pressed against hers while the faint taste of each other linger on tongues.

Her body thuds against the brick wall, finds herself pushed against with his hand buried deep under her dress. “ ** _Fuck_**...”

His lips curve into a knowing grin. Draws her chin back up and finds her eyes wide and teary. “Your father was right. I oughta wash this mouth with soap.”

Then a scowl. A large one as she groans and pushes his hand away. Softly, but not kindly, he stumbles back and sees her eyes with a glare in them.

“If you’re gonna fuck me, at least do it with some courtesy. Not against the wall for show for my father.” Her words are sharp and piercing, almost makes him forget she’s nearly half his age. “I’ll see you back at the table. Dad’s probably wondering where we’ve went.”

And when he’s seated back at the table, this time, it’s her eyes that do the staring, dark and cold: just like the night where tongue tasted of rum and coke.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between two lives, she's stuck picking whether she wants the one with her father and cliche of a step-mother, or the one with his best friend.

He’s meant to leave in two days. Back to the big apple of Manhattan where he’s to return to his job. Lawyer would not be the word to describe it, perhaps, CEO? Defence attorney. Whatever suits the mood.

However, he’s rather grown accustomed to Cape Brenton. A good diner by the hotel he’s settled in. A selection of authentic Canadian alcohol by the bar he goes to; the same one he had met her, so ghastly and so prominent in his memory.

A day or two left. It’ll hurt to leave. Though, not because of Steve or his bimbo of a wife but because of the said bars and diners. At least that’s what it is to him.

He’s got two days. Aside from today, where he’s spent nearly his time alone by bed. 

His memory returned to last night’s dinner. Steve. Adeline. Then her. Her white little dress. Short and stout, much like her. Standing meekly beside him, small and unbeknownst.

He shakes her off from his head, returns to the sit-com ever so faintly present on the TV. As if he cares to even bat anele at such sit-com.

Perhaps he should turn in to bed, is the first thought. However, still quite early, he hasn't much to do.

He turns, tumbles in bed. Groans even when buff muscles ache with stiffness. While pushing forty, he cannot lie that he does feel like sixty.

Occupied, ashamedly so by his own soreness, much to his demise. 

Then a knock. Not once. Not twice. But thrice. Three rapid sets before it turns rambunctious and he jolts out of bed. 

And when that oak door swings open, he’s met by the sight of her; face just as he had met her, wet and eyes red. Swollen even if he looks closer.

His mouth parts open, wanting to speak and perhaps ask her what she’s doing here but she’s won that before he does.

“Can I come in?” There’s desperation in her voice, mixed with some sort of sadness, both present and prominent. He simply nods, moves along and she rushes in without hesitation. Not a single second wasted.

While he, too, shocked by her own appearance, takes a single moment to calibrate himself before focusing attention to her. Where, crouched by the mini-bar, she searches far and wide for a tangiable taste of despair.

When she finds it, he watches with a careful eye as the Captain Morgan slits down her throat with such beautiful ease. He suppose that’ll be an added ten dollars to his bill.

Seemingly satisfied with the drink, she drops against the end of the bed and sighs a breath of relief.

Hesitant, rightfully so, he steps near and falls beside to her as well. “I suppose this isn’t about last night.”

Ignorance seems to a viable trait of hers as she’s back to rummaging the fridge once again. Her skirt inches too short for her own good, riding up to get a glimpse of the pink undies she sports.

“We can’t keep meeting like this.” He tried again. This time, kindness is on his side and apparently, so is hers.

She turns a head, a face present with an intoxicated glare. “What? Drunk and in the midst of a life crisis?”

He shrugs in return, then begins to dig through the pockets of his sweats and returns with a joint buried in his palm. “Perhaps, high as well.”

“I’ll take it.”

Like that, the blunt is lit, the smoke is blown, and their heads are lost in the euphoria of that is cannabis. Perhaps in another time, he would’ve been a stoner if he were to live here. Maybe. Who knows.

Twenty year old him is gone. Only to return when she’s around in a sense. He hates it when she’s gone as he’s left to bask in the realization of his actions.

The idea of him, thirty-four years old, sleeping around with a girl half his age, would seem like such a preposterous image.

Well, this is where he sat.

Stoned out of his mind with his best friend’s eighteen year old daughter, both drunk and impaired. A giggle here and there from her when she found him staring too long for her liking.

When her laughter fades, just as her smile, her eyes swells with unwanted and unwarranted tears.

Bucky turns, finds himself staring with a saddened look on his face when he asks her the question: “What did your dad do this time?”

She claws her eyes. “What do you care?” Sends him a defensive glare to his way.

“I care if you’re charging the whole mini-bar to my bill.” He’s just as spiteful back, then realizes that he does, intends much care for his own good. “Plus, your father is an asshole who’s used to picking fights wherever he goes. You’re not an exception.”

And while she’s hesitant, bites her lip in remembering of what had lead to their fight, the memory returns to her vividly.

“He’s found out about...” A shrug, then a purse of her lips while tears prick her eyes. And something in Bucky races, churns even while he waits for her answer. “...I’m taking a gap year are I graduate. Turns out, dad isn’t too fond of that idea.”

And as silence passes, his thoughts faces with the fact that Steve’s nothing but a hypothetical asshole and a shit father. A bimbo for a wife while his daughter is nothing but distracted with sex and drugs.

So much for parenthood.

“Look at me.” His voice is hoarse and deeper than it usually is. Blame it on the alcohol or the drugs, makes no difference either way. But it does when he’s lost his train of thought and he’s forced to stare at her... plump cheeks caused by the rum, her eyes are shot red just as his.

**_Fucker._ **

Then of course, his lips are stuck to hers just as desperate as she is when she kisses him back. Both tongues tasted of cannabis and rum, Bucky finds him in another predicament when his best friend’s daughter finds herself sat on his lap with hips pressed against him.

The little shit she is.

Shoved a tongue down his throat, which to him, accepts or dearly and has her moaning like a bitch in heat. She’s already pushed her undies away, bare like their first time together.

This time, she’s in charge.

And she’s got him on the bed, hips swiveling back and forth in rhythm. A hand to her breast, palming incessantly while his moans are what sings loudly to her ears.

While on another occasion, he may have been ashamed to have cum to easily, but not tonight. Tonight, it’s all her doing while her hips stutter close to climax.

A loud cry of his name falls so sweet from her lips, hidden when she buries her face in the crook of her his collarbone and neck meets.

A coo from him. “That’s it, baby.” So sweet and gentle, aids her from the thoughts of her father hours before. Then, she’s gone. Falls into that exhaustion and desperation away from Steve.

* * *

Once again, she’s the first to awake. The bare thin sheet over her body, cold and shivers done her back, she finds her lover still fast asleep behind her.

And now, well, she’s digging for her dress and underwear that laid carelessly on the floor.

Then there’s a stir. The bed dips to his weight and she curses under swollen lips. “Where you off to?”

He rubs a tatted finger down her spine, makes her sigh in relief to his touch. Perhaps even guilts her to stay. Though, the shake of her head answers that herself.

“I’m going to a bar.”

His head is high and curious to her answer.

While groggy and eyes turned in a lazy turn, his interest and curiosity is still peaked to the hilt. “They won’t allow you. They ID everyone.” In a way, he fucking hates it. Constant ID of his age as if the salt and pepper in his hair isn’t enough.

And clearly, grown up in this city, she gifts him with a glare. “Fake ID.” She’s got the flail little thing between her fingers, faked an age of twenty one like in the states when in reality she’s three years younger than that.

Then she’s up.

He follows along, takes her by surprise when she’s pressed against the wall and he’s got a hand between legs. Makes her cry his name once again before promising he’ll accompany her for a drink.

She agrees.

* * *

He shares a tab with her. Knows that he’ll most likely spend the rest of his days in Canada here, a glass of alcohol sat at two am in the morning.

While she? She sports the same drink: whiskey, this time. She’s not allowed, legally, no, but who was she to follow laws? Never and couldn’t care less.

Perhaps which is why her and her father didn’t get along so well. He was this perfect ideal of a man. Hell, he even served in the army. Perfect marks.

While her, well... Shes lucky to even have a school begging for her ass. Years of empty alcohol bottles, cigarettes and joint butts lit out, she’s amazed that she’s gotten this far.

Perhaps she shouldn’t give herself too much credit, really. Give most of it to her mother. Adopted mother, she suppose. Though, Margaret was nothing but adopted to her.

If her mother she was attempting to remember, certainly the eighteen year old’s ratchet memories with no doubt rushed to the English woman. Bold lips and brunette locks, she was the perfect mother... until she wasn’t.

She couldn’t blame Margaret, though. Too busy attempting to fix her own marriage to that asshat of a husband, there wasn’t really time for her until the two decided to divorce.

She’s left with the blond while the brunette finds happiness. At least one of them is at peace. Happy, even.

The teenager could say the least. Busy fishing for men to drown herself in her own problems, who knew one of them would end up to be a great drinking buddy and a lover in bed. Let alone Steve’s old pal from college.

Perhaps not lover. Affair? No... Distraction fits the description. Though, she cannot lie, hes one of the most rather handsome, charming man in her ever growing list.

She’s clearly caught up in her own thoughts, busy with the idea of what’ll she do in the future with her father rather than with him in the present.

Damn, Canada.

If only her biological mother hadn’t killed herself, perhaps she wouldn’t be in this damn bar drinking herself dry.

Then again, possibly, she’s meant to end up in a relationship with alcohol. Only in another life, she’s not sulking to man about her father but rather her mother.

Pathetic really.

She’s sure that’s what Bucky is thinking when she catches staring with dazed eyes. Blame her for that. She’s the one who decided to get drunk again after sex.

“What?” Her voice is sharp and harsh, it always is and her father hates every bit of it the way that bimbo bitch’s is the opposite. “You’ve got a look on your face, Barnes. You’re drooling.”

His eyes roll back, annoyance ever present on his face and it turns to a distaste when the drink burns down his throat.

“You still have that weed?”

He shakes his head. She frowns and sighs. But he chuckles, leans even against the chair and grins at the way she pouts like a child. “You have a mouth on you.”

“What?” She snorts, pushes back hairs away from her face. “Never saw a girl hold her drink?”

His gaze darkens, his posture straight when she stares at him. A gulp. Hard.

“No, I have. But—” His head tilts, just as his glass of whiskey. “—Not someone as young as you.” That comment alone makes her eyes roll, but thighs clench in anticipation.

God, she’s a whore isn’t she? Already slept with him not one, twice, nor thrice, but five fucking times. Twice tonight, three times the last two days he’s been here. Whatever, she’ll sleep with whomever she wants. As long as her mind drifts some place else that isn’t of home.

She bites back. “As if me, nearly half your age, has ever stopped you from getting your dick hard.”

So does he. “No, but you can’t blame me for not knowing the truth.” A shrug then he drinks.

“You knew when you fingered me last night, but alright.” Shes mocking him with that shrug, he knows it. Yet, though he should be irritated, instead, he’s grinning like a boy with a crush. “Or! _Or_... when you _made love_ to me in your car.”

His eyes roll, both exaggerated just as her words. Though, his eyes hold more gravity than she intended it to. “You weren’t complying when I was balls deep in you, now were you? Or moaning a like a bitch in my ear.”

Then her eyes are cold. Lips pressed together while he sees the slightest movement of her legs under her dress. He’s smiling at the idea of her drenched right now. Makes it laugh if it weren’t for the audience in the bar.

“That’s not fair.” She pouts. Her bottom lip out like an actual fucking child.

“Life’s not fair, baby. You gotta live on.” His hand reaches out for her thigh, she allows it when he rubs a thumb against warm and heated skin. He’ll blame the whiskey for that.

And while for her, her cheeks are just as warm as the whiskey she’s drinking. Blame the pet name or the way it falls so delicious and so delicate from his mouth but there’s no denying the flushed look she’s sporting.

However it’s gone the moment she actually basks in his words. Fair. _Psh_ , as if life was ever fair to her. She used to be a fucking orphan for fucks sake before her ass for lucky and some white couple who live sun a picket fence neighborhood decided they wanted kids without the hard work.

Not to mention, the divorce, God. It’s always about the divorce. It’s what got him marrying a bimbo for that matters and why she’s sleeping with her father’s best friend.

And while she wishes she could take it back, lying to herself and others won’t do that any good, now would it? Exactly.

So, she’s gotta move on from the next.

Whether that be her father or the man she’s fucking, everyone is bound to leave anyways. There’s no point of investment. At least not in her case.

And it proves her point more when Bucky speaks up, glass shot up and empty with one gulp. “I’m leaving in two days,” he says, unamused and unaffected. Of course, obviously to him, she was nothing a hole to fill like he was to her.

However, one glance to her and he’s gone his mind settled and permanent. “Perhaps I might extend my stay. Who knows. How about you?”

The question is a common one bur to her, jt all feels personal. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t know the answer to that, never has. Another reason her father is out for her. Another reason why she declined that scholarship until next year. Another reason why she might stay longer in Cape Brenton.

Again, who knows.

She sure doesn’t when she shrugs at the question. Even voices her confusion at best. “I don’t know.”

“You ain’t going to New York?” He asks.

Makes her face scrunch in disbelief and confusion. As if to wonder why is he asking that when he knew why. When he knew it was the reason why she fucking slept with him in the first place.

So, she laughs. “What for? I don’t got anything waiting for me there. At least not until next year.”

Though, his silence is invigorating. Chilling. Even more so when she can’t predict what he might say and to her, that’s scary. She’s always known of what might her future be; the alcohol gives her a sight of it. “What?”

“You come with, if you’d like.” He shrugs as if it’s nothing. Like he isn’t offering her a place other than this damned place. Like he isn’t offering her the world. “With me, of course. We don’t want you getting lost, now we?”

And god, fucking hell, that grin. So demeaning and so mocking, he definitely knows what he’s doing. Especially with his offer. He knows.

So does she. However, while her, both in disbelief and mistrust, laughs like he were telling her a joke. “Funny. Didn’t know you had a sense of humour as well. Maybe it only comes out when you’re getting wasted with a high schooler.”

He squeezes the skin on her leg, catches her attention as she peers up at him with such difference in their height. “I’m serious. Come with me.”

As she searches for any misfortune in his eyes, all she sees is nothing but the colour blue. A hint of grey. Maybe even green. But there’s nothing but such sincerity in them that she believes him.

Her heart practically stops and suddenly the whiskey boils a storm in her stomach. Fuck. She thinks she’s gonna vomit. Fuck. Really? Now? Right when her fuck buddy is practically offering her the world in his hands.

Though, luckily for her, it cooperates. It dies down and she’s able to breathe like she wasn’t being crushed. “Y/n?”

No, fuck that, call me baby. Please.

“You can’t be serious.” Theres disbelief in her voice but deep inside, very deep, she believes him. “Y - you know - Fuck - I - James...” She gives up, shoulders sag with defeat and frowns.

However, Bucky doesn’t. He shakes his head, holds a head out for him to touch her warm cheek. Caresses even while he gives her a soft smile. “Just think about it. You don’t have to yes. For now, come home with me.”

Like that, he reaches out his hand, ready to leave the bar again. Just like before, this time, she goes with him, hand in hand.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a look into the future shows how vastly different shes lived her life without the help of her conservative father and bimbo of a wife

His fingers are cold and still, pausing to where the curve of her breast peaks. He sighs, a large blow of smoke into the cocky air of the small motel room. The joint sitting heavily between his fingers, index and thumb.

While her, she tastes of where his lips were once. Minutes prior, she had been mewling underneath him while she fisted the low quality sheets of their bed.

Now, she’s got the time in the world.

She’s got it spent with the man beside her, sharing the intoxicating drug between blows while the poor neon sign of the motel shines like a star. A poor reminder of their location, yet somehow, the dark and musty motel room gives them all the comfort they need.

She sighs when she feels him press, a finger to her blossomed nipple, a pinch, even a swirl that elicits a breath from her. Jesus… This man is a constant, both physically and mentally in her life.

Hell, she can’t blame him wholeheartedly. She’s the one who always calls and shows up in his doorstep, whether it be at his home in New York or at some cheap ass motel in the middle of the state.

Whatever that works for them.

And when she ends up in his arms just like the first time they had met at thag god forsaken bar in Cape Brenton, she reels in the feeling of the euphoria that comes with him.

A sigh, another one, when she leans against him; feels the warmth of his chest contrast to the way his fingers cold and dead against her breast.

“I’m glad you came.” Is what he says to break the silence. After two long hours of mewling and moaning each other’s name, he’s the first to speak truthfully and hopeful.

She sits on it for a while, drags out the anticipation when she takes a blow of the joint that they share. Then, when she’s found her words, she speaks: “I always come.”

It’s not much, yes, but to him it’s everything. Because in fact, in every sense, she does. After leaving for New York that last two years, her presence somewhere else that isn’t with him, she’s all he’s been waiting for.

“I know—” He’s staring, too much for his own liking but he does and he finds the hickeys present on her neck. He knows she’s probably thinking of a way to hide them away from the prying eyes of her classmates. “And I’m thankful for that.”

She breathes in his scent, rubs her nose against the arm around her and smiles. Fuck, this feels great. It always does when she’s around him and for once, her head feels sane, not lost, but present.

“Will you stay?”

Her heart stops. She knows she can’t. She never can in times like these with him, she’s always gone first thing in the morning. Eighteen year old her wouldn’t have cared, he was just another dick to fuck around with, it didn’t matter.

He didn’t matter.

She doesn’t know what to say, she never does when he asks that. Instead, she answers him with a kiss, presses one even to his bare torso; feels the muscle clench under the touch of her swollen lips.

“You’re not aren’t you?” He breathes, heavy and panting when she disappears under the covers; mouth secure around his length, the taste of his precum tingles all over her tongue. So prominent and so him.

“ _Fuck_.”

He voices her pleasure for her, has her grinning mouthful of his cock while emerald green painted nails grip his thigh. This will never get old. Not with the way he sings her name just as if he were a one man symphony.

When he cums, prominent and mouthful, she’s not shy to swallow the whole of him down without wasting a drop. And when she pulls away from under the quilt, eyes red and droopy, either from the head she just gave or the weed they shared, she’s just as gorgeous when he first met her.

“I’ll stay. Always.”


End file.
